Page 87 of Shark’s Pride

“Back?” Grant pressed.

“Yes. I’m attending a reunion with some close friends. I committed to the event several months ago, right before coming out here. The travel arrangements have already been made.”

“Ah. That’s too bad,” I mused. “I would’ve offered you use of my jet as a gesture of my gratitude.”

“You have a jet?” It was Jacob’s turn for the unmasked reaction. Surprise dominated his face. “Annnd that was probably a dumb thing to ask. But I could never accept something like that.”

I exchanged a private glance with Grant. Yes, from all the way across the room. Yes, because Jacob Cole was as rare as a unicorn in a town like Los Angeles. Talented as a leathered rock star yet as humble as homemade apple pie.

“Of course you could,” I nearly growled at the unicorn, who still stood there nervously fiddling with his pens. I almost wondered where his pocket protector was but refrained from cracking that particular zinger. “And next time, you will. I insist.”

As I held up my hand to stop his mounting and useless protest, Grant made a point of striding back over to add in a stage whisper, “Eventually, you’ll learn not to bother arguing.”

With that as his parting jab, Grant turned and rushed out the door. As soon as he shut the door, Jacob posed to me, “So…you two have known each other for a long time?”

“Our whole lives,” I supplied. “We grew up together. Why do you ask?”

“I just feel the brother-close air between you.” He lifted a quixotic smile. “I haven’t seen a lot of that around here. In this town, I mean. People are nice enough, of course—peace, love, sunshine—but it just seems like everyone is so…driven.” He paused, clearly not nailing what he wanted to say with that either. “Motivated,” he finally pronounced. “And focused. And all of that is great too, but there are key human things that seem to be missing in most of the people I’ve met so far.”

“People.” As I repeated the word with slow care, I examined Jacob Cole with even deeper regard. The telling flash in his gaze gave away the truth I sought out. “You mean women. Or maybe men?”

“Ahhh.” The guy chuckled, clearly put on the spot but confident enough to handle my incision. “Definitely women.” He tapped the end of a pen against the tabletop. “Not that the definition helps,” he confessed. “I’m…just not really sure I’ll ever meet the right one in this city.”

“Were you hoping to?”

I asked it with raised brows but inwardly questioned my move. Why was I even going there with the guy? Small talk wasn’t something I usually engaged in. Not enough time, not enough patience. But Jacob had such a unique “little brother” quality about him. He just reeled me in. Made me want to care about him, for some reason.

“Nah,” he said but with speed that gave up even more of his game. Or, in this case, lack of it. As in, not even wanting to play it. “I guess not. No, definitely not,” he rushed out. “I mean, I already met her—a lifetime ago. When I was in college, up north.”

“So what happened? If she was ‘the one,’ I mean, why aren’t you married with two-point-five brats and a Pomeranian that you push around in a dog stroller?”

“Complicated story.” But his laugh was too loud and too agitated. “No, that’s bullshit. It’s not complicated at all. I got offered a dream apprenticeship in Barcelona—”

“And ergo, the reunion,” I inserted.

“Right,” he commented. “And she insisted I accept it. She wasn’t able to come with me due to having a super-controlling family.”

“Whom she refused to stand up to?”

His features, already carved and pronounced, tightened to the texture of a stone statue. “It was a little more complicated than that.”

I nodded, pretending to commiserate—until realizing, with shock, that I actually did. “As most things are,” I murmured, meaning that too.

“We stayed in touch at first, but well…you know how it goes.” He shrugged and leaned heavily against the table’s edge. “She grew distant and then ghosted me after about nine months. Cut off all communication. I never heard from her again.”

“Damn.” And yes, I meant that too—but I’d have to be made of the same stone he looked like to phone that one in. “That’s cold.”

Cole grunted softly. “By then I was so brokenhearted and bitter, I just threw myself into making the most of my studies in Barcelona.”

“And the pussies of the local España girls?” The lighthearted crack was my attempt to ease the guy’s moroseness. It hung over him like a shroud.

“Not for a long time,” Jacob asserted. “Took about a year after the last time I spoke to her to even sleep with another woman. I loved this girl with every breath I took. We grew up together in college, you know? We shared our dreams and planned what our lives would be after graduation. So when she cut me out of the very dreams we shared, it eviscerated me.”

“Dude.” It was all I could offer in the way of sympathy. Admittedly, empathy and compassion were not my strong suits—or at least I’d assumed until now. Until Vela came into my life, I thought I was incapable of feeling the emotions at all. And actually displaying them? Like, possibly, in a situation like this? No way. At all.

Yeah…just…no.

Yet, here I was. “Dude”ing all over Jacob Cole like we were sharing our inner spirits with each other two days deep at Coachella. And I was fine with it. More than fine, actually.